Bullock Creek Beef

by Jonny Pearce, Abergowrie

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I get my beef from Bullock Creek.
They drop it to me every week.
It comes from cattle plumply fed
on Abergowrie's emerald bed.

By crashing waterfalls and streams,
where poets want to paint their dreams,
in Herbert River Valley's heart -
as God displays his misty art.

Just drive as far as you can go -
‘til mountains meet and life is slow.
Inside this station’s rustic gates -
the beef is reared to fill our plates.

Bulls spangle every shade of green
with black and white to dot the scene.
From dawning sparks to mellow fades -
this bovine munch on leafy blades.

The water here is mountain-pure -
no beast could want for any more.
They roam around and gently graze
in paradise throughout their days.

Then from this paddock to the plate,
at sixteen bucks per kilo weight,
it comes in fillet, mince and snags -
all vacuum-packed in plastic bags.

There's t-bones, rump and tender ribs.
You'd think that I was telling fibs -
but that's delivered to your door.
And once it's gone - you order more.

To feed an army at a feast -
I'd go for half a tender beast.
Just add some salt - no need for spice.
You couldn't find a better price.

So if you haven't phoned before,
and had this beef dropped to your door,
then call the number on the card,
and fry it up - or have it charred.

On Abergowrie's final flat,
where grass is thick and bulls are fat,
inside the range’s silver peak -
there's dinkum beef at Bullock Creek.

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